


Pinnacle

by CillaManilla (ITrustThyLove)



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Angst, Consensual Underage Sex, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Incest, M/M, Underage Drinking, oh yes all the angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-30
Updated: 2018-08-30
Packaged: 2019-07-04 16:38:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15845205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ITrustThyLove/pseuds/CillaManilla
Summary: Written for this prompt found on Tumblr: https://miamimilky.tumblr.com/post/174209227274/can-you-imagineRick’s relationship with Morty being found outRick being cuffed and shoved in a police car as Morty watches, his parents holding him back from running after him.Rick being uncharacteristically quiet as they take him away.Rick pleading guilty.Rick escaping from prison again and never coming backMorty trying to move on but he’s fucked up for life.Rick coming back when Morty’s in his 20s and Morty has a boyfriend/girlfriend.Morty leaving his partner for Rick with no hesitation.Just. Just fucking fuck me up man.Pretty much followed it to a tee, so yah. Enjoy the angst with a happy ending.





	Pinnacle

**Author's Note:**

> Should really be working on Nevermind, but I've got caught in a bit of a rut, and as I randomly stumbled upon this idea, I found myself inspired.
> 
> So, please enjoy this little fic! I'd love to see it written in more detail, but this is what felt natural to me, so :)

When Morty was thirteen, Rick showed him the stars, and Morty fell in love. Their brightness, their promises of endless stories; space was a vast vacuum of never-ending possibilities. Never before had Morty felt so at peace with his own insignificance. The stars, the millions upon billions upon trillions of opportunities ( _just pick one, just go, don’t think about it_ , Rick said, _and go back home when it’s all over and burned to the ground)_. And for the first time, Morty was _free_. He left everything behind, just for a bit, just for one heart-wrenchingly significant beat of his heart, adrenaline surging through his blood, and Morty, jesus, Morty _felt._ For the first time ever, Morty could breathe. 

They wandered the cosmos, together; sometimes leaving destruction in their wake, pain and guilt proving his own existence; sometimes saving the day, pride and glorious, ethical exhilaration proving that nihilism wasn’t all. And Morty belonged. His mind sang with the songs of a thousand spontaneously combusting celestial dwarfs.

 

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When Morty was fourteen, Rick dragged him from his bed at four in the morning, pulling him along on another zany adventure that ended with them jumping, hand-in-hand, out of a low-flying spaceship into the magenta ocean waves of a planet whose name Morty couldn’t remember. Rick whooped with victorious delight. They swam to the shore and collapsed onto the sun-warmed sand, breathless with laughter. And Morty turned and stared at the soaked profile of his grandfather, the way his blue-grey hair clung to his forehead, the way the corners of his eyes crinkled with laughter. Rick turned, eyes shining, and ruffled Morty’s hair, chuckling about how _fucking epic_ it’d been when Morty used that one alien’s stun gun against itself.

Morty fell in love again.

 

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When Morty was fifteen, he stole a bottle of his mother’s more expensive wine, climbing up onto the roof, staring wistfully at the stars. He willed himself to not think, not feel, the wrongness spreading through him, a loneliness he’d almost forgotten setting back in. He took a swallow of the sharp wine. Another. Imagined a bubbled of alcoholic detachment settling itself around all his feelings, all the dirtywrong emotions he shouldn’t have. The family way, his legacy. Just drink the pain away. He chuckled to himself, bitter.

A quarter in, Rick sat down next to him, grabbing the bottle from his hands and taking a slug himself. Rick knocked his shoulder against Morty’s in a silent _what’s wrong?_ Morty stared at the stars, his home. But that wasn’t quite right, was it? He turned his head and stared at Rick instead.

Rick, calmly, for once not mocking or busting his balls, stared back, something like concerned fondness in his eyes. Something like love.

Morty’s carefully constructed bubble burst, emotions spilling out, taking over all. Pushed on by adrenaline, longing, and drink, Morty acted. _No time to think, just do, just don’t think about it_. Morty smashed his lips clumsily against Rick’s.

And Rick, Rick kissed him back.

 

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When Morty was sixteen, the door to Rick’s room was smashed open with a bang, the door jamb breaking off together with the lock. Morty screamed in startled fright as men in blue rushed in and ripped Rick from Morty’s embrace. Morty clutched their comforter to his chest as Rick, standing blurrily in just his boxers, was handcuffed right in front of him. Rick only stared at his feet, dejected, as if the inevitable had come to pass. As if he’d expected it. As the officers pulled him from the room, Rick went willingly.

Morty scrambled into movement, running after them just to be caught by the strong hands of his mother. Morty turned his head, hissed words of betrayal of heart break, before managing to wrench his way free.

His father caught up to him just outside the front door. Beth grabbed hold of his other arm as the officers led Rick down the front yard.

Morty called after him, screaming his name over and over. As Rick sat down in the back of the police car, he finally looked up and caught Morty’s eye. Sorrow, longing, regret, heart-break, and Morty, for once, understood, he understood it all. And he called out meaningless reassurances, how it was _okay, everything is going to be okay, it’s not your fault, really, I’ll wait for you, **I love you**. _

And Rick, for the first time ever, said nothing.

 

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Two weeks later, Rick was placed in prison for life, his plea of guilty having been broadcast for all the world to see. Morty’s heart shattered in his chest, even as he clung to hope like a man drowning.

 

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When Morty was seventeen, he received his admission letter from Washington State. He’d gotten out of the house. Mission complete. Now all he had to do was wait.

 

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When Morty was eighteen, sitting inside his tiny room in his tiny dorm, roommate asleep, breaking news on CNN showed the now-empty prison cell of one Richard Sanchez, and Morty breathed freely for the first time in years.

 

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When Morty was nineteen, home for thanksgiving break, he once again stole a bottle of his mother’s wine, setting himself up onto the roof, in mock remembrance of what would be the four-year anniversary for his and Rick’s first kiss. As the last drop slipped down the inside of the bottle and onto his tongue, Morty let the first tear slip down his cheek with it. And with a single sob caused by the broken shards of his heart cutting into his tear canal, Morty gave up.

After that, he didn’t return home anymore.

 

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When Morty was twenty-two, he graduated college. He’d reserved one chair, staring his friend Vanessa down as she’d cautiously ventured if perhaps it wasn’t time to forgive his parents. On the bleachers, watching him walk up in his ridiculous rope with his ridiculous hat and receiving his ridiculous diploma, he looked out and caught the eye of his sister. She waved uncharacteristically enthusiastic. He forced himself to smile.

 

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When Morty was twenty-two and a month out of college, he got himself a bullshit temp job in Seattle doing whatever. At his first day, he walked in, trying for a pleasant and open smile that didn’t give away the death he knew shone in his eyes, and promptly fell over someone’s messenger bag. The owner of the bag was 31, had dark blue eyes and faintly greying black hair. He introduced himself as Caleb. On their first date, Morty talked for ten minutes straight about the possibilities of space travel and how far out NASA was from creating a space station on Mars. Caleb laughed pleasantly, asked the waiter for more wine and changed the subject. Later, Morty let him fuck him in his very-proper-indeed apartment and tried not to think of ice-blue eyes shining in the light of the stars.

 

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When Morty was twenty-three, Caleb asked him to go steady. Morty smiled and hugged him, hoping the sheen to his eyes could be interpreted as joy and not depressed resignation. This was his life now.

 

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When Morty was twenty-four, he abandoned his pathetic flat, and moved his mediocre number of belongings into a quaint little three-bedroom townhouse that Caleb bought for them. Summer came to the housewarming Caleb insisted on, bringing along a proper bottle of Pinot Noir and a brand-new boyfriend, eyes wide as she took in the overly posh paintings hanging in the den. She told him Mom and Dad were finally getting that divorce. Morty shrugged and poured another glass of wine.

 

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When Morty was twenty-five, Caleb suggested couple’s counselling. Sitting in an uncomfortably comfortable faux-leather couch, trying desperately not to think of Dr. Wong’s office, he listened to Caleb talk about how Morty was so _distant,_ how he didn’t _talk_ to him, didn’t  _confide_ in him, and how Caleb thought it was because of that whole, you know, _thing_ there’d been with his grandfather. How Morty never even _talked_ about that, and how it must’ve been _so very traumatic._

Morty, in turn, talked about how he was afraid of letting anyone in again after that _thing_ , afraid of being betrayed again after that _thing_. He let Caleb and the therapist believe that he was talking about Rick and not his parents.

Morty got better at pretending after _that_ thing.

 

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When Morty was twenty-six, he woke up in the middle of a night to a loud, whirring _thump_ from the front yard. He stumbled outside, freezing in just his boxers, Caleb following fast on his trail, and there he was, leaning against the side of his “vehicle made of garbage”, as one gromflomite had called it. Spiky hair in a disarray, blue eyes wide and manic, spittle running from his lower lip. Beautiful.

Morty laughed, _laughed,_ for the first time since he was sixteen. Ran to him as fast as his feet could carry him over the dewy grass. Their kiss spoke of ten years passed and everything with it. On Rick’s lips, Morty tasted desperation, regret, longing, and lovelovelove. Surprisingly, not an ounce of the whisper-strong whiskey-scent Morty was used to.

Rick took his face in strong, long-fingered hands, cradling his skull like he was something precious. Ran one withered thumb over Morty’s cheekbone. Rick rested his forehead against his, a single word on his lips: _Morty._  

And Morty, Morty put his hands over Rick’s, eyes following the single tear that trailed down the cheek that Morty knew so well, even after all this time. _Take me away from here_ , he breathed, and Rick blinked his eyes open, shining, always shining.

They broke atmo with a laugh. Morty stared at Rick’s wide grin, his hands, the way he kept glancing to the side as if he couldn’t quite believe Morty had actually come, was actually here.

Morty thought his heart might burst. This pinnacle of joy, this wonderous moment in time. The stars welcomed him back with a twinkle as if winking at him, sharing with him the joy of finally, _finally,_ being home.  

He never looked back.

**Author's Note:**

> Any and all constructive criticism is welcome! It's also not been beta'd, so if you find any mistakes, please don't hesitate to tell me x


End file.
